


After Tempest

by pipermca



Series: Alt Modes and Alchemy [2]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Arranged Bonding, Bigotry & Prejudice, Dementia, M/M, Magic, Religious Fanaticism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-15
Updated: 2018-03-02
Packaged: 2019-03-18 17:48:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 16,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13686699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pipermca/pseuds/pipermca
Summary: When one misfortune after another rocks the Praxian royal family, Prince Smokescreen must rise to meet the challenges that await him as the heir apparent.





	1. Vorn 0

**Author's Note:**

> This story is a prequel to [The Renegade and the Hound](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12966390/chapters/29641602), but it contains spoilers for that story... If you care about that sort of thing!

It had been a good hunt. 

No, Prince Smokescreen hadn’t brought down any game himself, but that hadn't been the point of the hunt. Instead, he had spent some quality time with a few of the younger nobles in the Court, getting to know them and building the relationships he would need when he eventually became King. 

One noble in particular, a shy mech designated Halfsteel, quietly thanked Smokescreen for including him on the hunt. He was normally left out of group social activities, and appreciated being remembered. Halfsteel’s house was large, with many pure Praxians. Smokescreen knew it would be a benefit to have that house on his side of the Court.

In addition to the networking opportunities, getting out of the palace and away from his sire and the Temple priests had been wonderful.

As the hunting party approached the gates of the capital city, however, Smokescreen could see that something was different. There were far more city guards at the gate than usual, and they were closely checking anyone coming or going. Normally, only mechs entering the city warranted that type of attention.

The entire hunting party transformed as they drove up to the gate, and one of the city guards snapped to attention. “Your Highness!” he exclaimed, slamming his fist against his chest armor. “I have been told to inform you that you should report to the King immediately upon your arrival.”

Smokescreen frowned. He’d planned on spending some time in the wash racks and getting some fuel before checking in with his sire. “Do you know why?” he asked the guard.

“I... I don’t know,” the guard stammered. “I have just been told that you should report to the King immediately.” The city guard’s optics focused somewhere over Smokescreen’s shoulder.

Flicking his door wings in irritation, Smokescreen blew a burst of air from his vents. “Very well.” He turned to the small group of nobles who stood behind him. “My apologies for the abrupt end to our outing. I had a wonderful time... Hopefully we can do this again sometime soon.” He smiled at all of the nobles, noting that Halfsteel actually met his optics. Even that was an improvement to how the young noble was acting before the hunt.

Smokescreen turned back to the gate and transformed again, speeding off into the city with his Royal Guard behind him.

When he arrived at the palace, he was given the same directive to see his sire immediately. Again, there were far more guards around than usual. As he strode through the castle corridors towards his sire’s study, he noticed that the servants seemed cowed. They avoided making optical contact with him, and seemed to vanish down side corridors and into other rooms as he walked by.

 _What on Cybertron is going on?_ he thought. 

The King’s study door was open, and Smokescreen walked in. King Cygnus sat at his desk, glowering at a report, while Prince Prowl sat in a chair in front of the desk. Prowl’s head was bowed slightly and his door wings rested on the back of the chair. He looked up when Smokescreen entered the room with dim optics.

“It’s about time you got here,” said the King, his optics scanning the rest of the report he held. 

“We only just got in,” Smokescreen said, standing in front of the King’s desk. He glanced down at Prowl, who had gone back to looking at the floor. Prowl’s normally perfect posture was ruined by his slump, and it was strange that he had not welcomed his brother when he entered the room. Smokescreen looked back to the King in confusion.

“Never mind that,” the King said. He looked up and gestured at the Royal Guards. “Leave us.”

Smokescreen turned his helm and nodded at his own Royal Guard, and saw Prowl do the same out of the corner of his optic. In a moment, the door closed behind them and the three mechs were left alone.

“Sit.” The King pointed at the free chair next to Prowl’s. As soon as Smokescreen’s aft touched the chair, he said, “Silverstreak is gone.”

Smokescreen’s door wings shot up over his shoulders. “What do you mean, ‘gone?’” he asked. “Gone where?”

“We don’t know. The last he was seen, two cycles ago, he was driving north.” The King threw the report he had been reading at Smokescreen, who caught it awkwardly. “He took his rifle, fuel, a recharge pad, and some cash. He also took several items from the alchemy lab.” Cygnus glared at Prowl for a moment before looking back at Smokescreen. “We have trackers out looking for him, and our Chief Alchemist is crafting a discovery enchantment, but if he’s using a stealth charm he’ll be impossible to locate.”

His youngest brother just left? Silverstreak had always had a bit of a rebellious side to him, but Smokescreen never thought he would just... run away. Smokescreen looked back and forth from his sire to his brother and back again. Prowl’s optics were boring a hole in the floor, his door wings still low against the chair. “I don’t understand,” Smokescreen said. “What happened?”

“Your brother,” King Cygnus said, his voice dangerously quiet and clipped, “was **interfacing** with that miscreant he met while hanging out with all those beggars.”

Smokescreen’s optics widened. He knew that Silverstreak and Tempest were very good friends; the young Prince had met the grey and red mech when he started volunteering in the fuel halls. But Smokescreen had no idea that the two of them... “Oh no,” he said quietly, suddenly realizing why Silverstreak had run.

Silverstreak was a pure Praxian. Tempest was not. The penalty for interfacing with a purebred Praxian was deactivation.

Mistaking the reason behind Smokescreen’s dismay, King Cygnus nodded. “The apostate has been disposed of, publically. Thankfully, the Temple was able to handle the execution the same day. As far as anyone is concerned, though, the crime was blasphemy, not fornication. We need to protect what’s left of your brother’s reputation.” He flicked his door wings and gestured at the report in Smokescreen’s hand. “They have also begun interrogations to see if any others at the fuel hall know where Silverstreak may have gone.” 

Looking down at the report, Smokescreen quickly skimmed it. His door wings quivered as his optics caught a section, and he looked back up at the King. “The fuel hall has been closed?” he asked incredulously.

“Of course.” The King frowned at Smokescreen. “All of the mechs who worked there have been arrested and are being interrogated. It’s about time, too,” he growled. “Those places are magnets for the unsavory.”

Smokescreen pulled a full vent cycle, trying to calm the anger and horror rising within him. “That ‘magnet for the unsavory,’ as you call it, is the only way for some mechs to get enough fuel to get through each cycle,” Smokescreen said. “Silverstreak saw that, and that’s why he volunteered there.”

“Nonsense. If they would only work instead of beg, they would have as much fuel as they need,” the King said.

“Work where?” Smokescreen snapped. “And even if they find work, fuel has become expensive over the past several vorn. That’s why there is such a huge need: even if mechs are working, they can hardly afford to keep themselves fueled.” 

“Primus provides,” the King said dismissively. He sifted through the reports on his desk and found another one. “Besides, we need to get to the bottom of where this fuel is coming from.”

Smokescreen flared his door wings. “They are donations! I went to the fuel hall once with Silverstreak just to see how it worked.” He ignored the King’s astonished look. “Regular mechs donate their own fuel to help others. They consume less to help those less fortunate. They get no fuel from the Crown, except as donated through other mechs.” Taking another deep vent, Smokescreen closed his optics for a moment before continuing. “Whatever. This won’t help find Silverstreak.”

“Agreed.” The King nodded. “Once the interrogations are over, the Temple will be moving on to Silverstreak’s guards.”

Smokescreen frowned. “Shouldn’t they have been the first ones you spoke to?” he asked.

The King shrugged. “We did, but they insisted they didn’t know anything.” He picked up a written order and waved it at Smokescreen. “And once they have been thoroughly questioned, they will be deactivated as an example.”

“Are you **glitched**?” Smokescreen could not hold back the roar that erupted from his vocalizer and engine.

The King pointed a digit at Smokescreen. “Remember your place, creation, and watch your tone,” he snarled.

“You cannot do this!” Smokescreen exclaimed. “We... We hand pick our personal guards. We trust them with our lives, every day. They have never been told to... to spy on us. To report our movements. That would...” He glanced at Prowl, wondering why his brother was so silent on this issue. Surely he agreed! “That would be a gross violation of the trust we put on them, and they on us!” 

Waving a hand, the King said, “This came as a recommendation from the High Priest himself. The Temple has found that making examples of unwanted behaviour is beneficial to the population over time.”

Smokescreen leaned forward in his chair, lowering his door wings to their most deferent angle. “Please, sire... Don’t do this. Streaks’ guards probably had no idea that he was going to run. If you execute them for this... What do you think that will do to our relationship with our own Guards?” He waited until the King’s door wings tipped downwards slightly. “We **need** their absolute trust, and doing this would destroy that completely.”

The King stared at Smokescreen for a moment before his door wings flicked once. “You make a valid point,” he said. After thinking for a moment more, he said, “All right. I will spare the guards. But they will never work in the palace again.”

Smokescreen blew a vent of air and nodded. That was probably the best he would get out of his sire today. “Thank you,” he said quietly.

“Now, leave me,” the King said. “Prowl is looking after the search. I expect you to assist him, and to help review the interrogation reports.”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” Smokescreen said, bowing his helm forward before standing up. He and Prowl left the study together and made their way to Smokescreen’s quarters, trailed by their own Royal Guards. Smokescreen gritted his dentae, wondering how much of his outburst had been audible through the closed study doors. He would have to ask his head Guard later what he might have heard.

After they reached his quarters, Smokescreen glanced at Prowl, who was still silent. “What’s gotten into you?” he asked finally, taking a seat at the table. He thankfully took a sip from the fuel that the servants had prepared for him. “I thought you’d back me up in there.”

Taking a seat across from Smokescreen, Prowl’s optics flicked up at him, then he shook his helm. He pulled out a pad and jotted a note on it, then handed it to Smokescreen.

_I cannot speak. My jaw is broken. It is welded shut._

A laugh burst from Smokescreen’s vocalizer before he could stop himself. “How did that happen?” he asked, handing the pad back to Prowl.

_Silverstreak hit me after learning that I had signed Tempest’s execution order._

All of the humour evaporated from Smokescreen’s optics. Of course. Smokescreen had been away; normally he oversaw the execution orders. While Smokescreen had been off hunting and enjoying himself, Prowl had had to...

“You couldn’t have known,” Smokescreen said. “I haven’t had to sign an order for fornication with a pure Praxian in... in vorn. And the designations are left off of the orders on purpose.” He reached across the table and put his hand on Prowl’s arm. “And even if you had known, what could you have done?” Smokescreen grimaced. “I don’t think I could have done anything different. I’m... I’m sorry you had to do that.”

Prowl’s optics closed for a moment. Then he opened them and scribbled something else down on the pad.

_As soon as I saw his optics, I knew he was going to leave. Praxus isn’t someplace he wanted to live anymore. I’m starting to feel the same way._

Smokescreen’s optics fixated on Prowl’s last line. 

“I know how you feel,” he said quietly. He looked up at his brother, meeting Prowl’s sorrowful expression. Then, firmly, he said, “But I’m going to do everything I can to fix it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story came out of an anonymous ask on Tumblr wondering what Smokescreen was up to between when Silverstreak left Praxus, and the start of The Renegade and the Hound. This isn't a story I intended to write, but it filled in some gaps for me nicely. It contains lots and lots of world building.
> 
> As this goes on, you can play "spot the reference" since some of the things that happen in this story (especially close to the end) are mentioned in The Renegade and the Hound. ^.^


	2. Vorn 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One vorn has passed since Prince Silverstreak left.

“My humblest apologies, Your Highness,” said the King’s scribe. Nib scrambled up from his desk and bowed when Smokescreen entered King Cygnus’ study. “I had hoped to get a message to you before you got here. The King would like you to meet him in Prince Silverstreak’s study instead of here.” He wrung his hands and lowered his helm.

Smokescreen lifted an eye ridge, but managed to suppress the surprised flick of his door wings. “It’s no bother, Nib... I’m early anyway. Thank you for letting me know.” He nodded to the scribe and turned around to head towards Silverstreak’s study.

After the Prince vanished, the King had ordered Silverstreak’s study and quarters locked. “His rooms may hold clues as to where he’s gone. We might find something of use in his papers or things. Nothing is to be touched except by me or his brothers,” the King had decreed. Servants were allowed in to dust, but nothing was to be moved until he returned. But as the orbital cycles drifted by, the likelihood of Silverstreak’s return seemed to grow more and more remote.

The doors to Silverstreak’s study were open, and the King’s Guards stood outside. Smokescreen stopped in the doorway and knocked on the jamb anyway.

King Cygnus stood behind Prince Silverstreak’s desk, staring out the window. His hands were clasped behind his back, and his door wings were held low. “Come in. Close the door behind you,” he said without turning around.

Smokescreen complied, and stood on the other side of the desk. When the King did not turn around, Smokescreen scuffed his pedes on the floor, waiting for some sign from the King. Finally he said, “As requested, Your Majesty... I brought the report on the search progress.”

“Just tell me what it says,” the King said tiredly, still staring out the window.

Hesitating, Smokescreen looked down at the report. Then he softly blew air from his vents. “In the one vorn since Silverstreak left, there have been no sightings. No clues have been found. No one has admitted to seeing him, either in Praxus or in Petrex. There have been no reports of full-framed Praxians from any of the Temple’s informants outside of Praxus. In short: the trail has gone stale.”

The King was silent for a long moment. He pulled a full vent cycle, his door wings rising and falling with his air intake. Then, quietly, he said, “I did it to protect him, you know.” He stared silently out the window for a full klik before adding, “If it became known that he had bedded an impure mech, everything he had could have been taken from him: his commission with the Cavalry, his position in the Court, even his stance as third in line to the throne. If the Court knew that he had...” The King’s door wings quivered. “...that he had shared his **spark** with an impure mech – a commoner at that! – he could have lost everything.”

Smokescreen lifted his chin defiantly. “When you… When Tempest died… I’m sure he thought he had lost everything he cared about anyway.” The interrogation of Prince Smokescreen’s guards had revealed that their relationship had probably been going on for a while. Forever loyal, the Prince’s Guards had kept this information to themselves until it was beaten out of them by the Temple inquisitors. 

The King continued staring out the window. “So he cared more for that...” The King’s engine made a grinding noise as he bit back the word he was going to use. “He cared more for Tempest than for his own station, or his duty?”

“Silverstreak spent a lot of time with impure mechs, in the Academy, the Cavalry, and through his work in the fuel halls.” Smokescreen paused, then added, “I think he resented all the differences that set him apart from the mechs he had befriended. Royalty. Commander. Purebred. At his core, he just wanted to be like everyone else.”

King Cygnus shook his helm slightly. “We brought him up the same as you and Prowl. We wanted to make sure you all understood your duty and the role you had to play to protect Praxus, and help prepare Cybertron for the return of the Unmaker. Because of who you are and how you were created, you are not like other mechs.” The King’s door wings drooped slightly. “I’m not quite sure where we went wrong with him.”

“I don’t think you went wrong,” Smokescreen said. “Silverstreak’s always marched to the beat of a different drummer, in everything. But he’s always followed his spark and tried to do what’s right. This time…” He paused. “If he was in love with Tempest, I understand why he left.”

The King considered this quietly for a moment, then said, “It’s not that bad, you know... Being bonded to a mech that the Temple selects for you. You get to know each other, and respect each other. Bonding lets you see things from each other’s point of view. You learn how to live together. It works out in the end.”

Smokescreen frowned at the King’s back. “You realize that your Right of Refusal changes a lot. It gives you control that others don’t have.”

The King turned his head slightly at Smokescreen’s words, but he did not turn around. “As the heir, you have the same right.”

“But Silverstreak does not. Nor does Prowl, nor any other full-framed Praxian.” Smokescreen spread his door wings slightly, trying to pick up more subtleties of his sire’s mood. He wished he could see the King’s face. “How many mechs did you refuse before you finally bonded with Lord Caelum?”

That warranted a flick of the King’s door wings. “Three.”

“That’s three more than any other pure Praxian gets.” Smokescreen looked up at the ceiling, trying to find the right words. “When you see others bonding for love, someone that they chose for themselves... You wonder what that’s like. You wonder if you’ll ever be able to actually love the mech that was chosen for you. You feel... jealous. Resentful.”

The King’s helm turned to the side at that, glancing over his shoulder at Smokescreen. “You are jealous?” His door wings flared outwards slightly. “You and Prowl have not taken lovers, have you?”

“No!” Smokescreen’s door wings shot up. “I have not. I understand the importance of the King bonding to someone both pure and politically useful. And I cannot speak for Prowl, but I do not believe he has taken up with anyone, either.” Smokescreen could not imagine Prowl sneaking around with a lover in any event. 

The King silently turned to look back out the window. 

Smokescreen continued. “And the resentment goes the other way, too. Impure mechs are jealous of how well we are kept. Pure mechs have fuel, are taught a trade and given a purpose, are never for want of maintenance...”

At this the King finally whirled around, his door wings held high. “Pure Praxians are well kept because of who we are and what we are required to do! It is compensation for not choosing our partners. It is to ensure we are in peak condition to produce the vessel for Primus.” He threw up his hands in frustration. “This is taught and explained over and over again by the Temple! Pure Praxians are given these advantages **because** of what we must do!”

A sick satisfaction curled in Smokescreen’s tanks that his sire had reached the point of the argument that Smokescreen had been angling him towards. “Yes. But when explained that way, there is no escaping the conclusion that the Temple – and thus the Crown – sees the life of a pure Praxian as more valuable than that of an impure mech.” When the King’s hands and door wings fell, Smokescreen added, “ **That** is what Silverstreak heard, and saw, and hated.” Smokescreen moderated his tone as he saw his sire’s expression of dismay. “I’m sure that executing his lover simply made that distinction all too plain to him. So... that’s why he left.”

The King’s gaze had dropped to Prince Silverstreak’s desk. The desk was still covered in a clutter of reports and troop movements that the Cavalry’s High Commander had left behind when he fled the palace.

King Cygnus’ hand reached out to the back of the desk chair, and he leaned heavily on it. After a long moment, he quietly said, “Get out.”

Smokescreen watched his sire stare blankly at the surface of the desk. Then he bowed his helm and said, “Yes, Your Majesty.” He turned and left the study, quietly closing the door behind him.

After hesitating outside Silverstreak’s study for a moment, Smokescreen turned right and walked briskly down towards the end of the hallway, turning into the study at the end. He gestured for his Guards to stay outside the room as he entered.

Prowl sat behind his desk, working on a stack of reports. He looked up when Smokescreen walked in. “Can I speak to you? Alone?” Smokescreen asked. He was unable to keep the strain from his voice as he spoke.

As Prowl gestured for his Guards to leave the room and close the door, Smokescreen fell into the chair across from Prowl. He scrubbed his face plates with his hands before falling forward with his elbows on his knees, staring at the floor.

“He doesn’t get it,” Smokescreen said finally. “Even when I lay it out plainly, he doesn’t understand why Streaks would have left.” He blew air from his vents, then sat there for a long klik in silence before finally looking up at his brother. 

Prowl’s helm was tilted slightly, and the corners of his mouth tipped upwards in a tiny smile. Meeting Smokescreen’s gaze, Prowl quietly said, “How long did it take you to understand what Silverstreak was talking about?”

Smokescreen lifted his door wings defensively, but then lowered them again just as quickly when he felt a sudden wash of understanding. “....right,” he muttered, looking back down at the floor.

It had been pure happenstance that Silverstreak had wandered into the slums, so many vorn ago. As his Guards had tried to escort him out of the area, the young prince had been horrified at what he saw. He returned to the palace and told his older brothers about his experiences. 

Smokescreen vividly recalled scoffing at Silverstreak’s earnest descriptions of the mechs he had seen and the conditions they lived in. “Layabouts and criminals,” Smokescreen remembered saying. “If they simply found work, they wouldn’t be in that situation.” 

Sitting in Prowl’s office, Smokescreen grimaced at how his past words simply echoed what he had always been told... And what his sire had said today.

But Silverstreak had ignored his brothers’ dismissals, and had made quiet inquiries about what he had witnessed, innocent questions made to some of the more philanthropically-minded priests in the Temple. When he was able, Silverstreak returned to the poor areas of the capital, finding the shelters and fuel halls that provided assistance to the poor of the city. He spoke to the downtrodden. He listened to their stories. He got to know them.

He started to understand.

Smokescreen remembered the first time Silverstreak had finally convinced his eldest brother to accompany him to one of the fuel halls. “Just talk to the mechs there,” he said. “Hear what they have to say. Please?” The young Prince had smiled up at Smokescreen imploringly.

Smokescreen had never been able to say no when Silverstreak made that face.

So Smokescreen went with him, much to the consternation of his Guards. Smokescreen listened. He saw. And then... Slowly... He also began to understand. He finally saw what his birthright and social rank had blinded him to.

With a soft lump of regret in his throat, Smokescreen remembered how long it had taken him to sympathize with those mechs.

Looking back up at Prowl, Smokescreen nodded. “Yes. I remember.” He sat up. “I didn’t believe it until I saw it with my own optics, and spoke to the same mechs Streaks had met.” He shook his helm and added, “I don’t think we’ll get sire to visit one of the shelters or halls, though.”

“Probably not.” Prowl shook his door wings. “But we’ll keep trying to make him understand. Silverstreak would expect that of us,” he said with a smile. When Smokescreen nodded, Prowl handed him a small stack of reports. “Now, since you’re here... Maybe we can go over the recommendations for the new High Commander for the Cavalry.”

Smokescreen took the reports from Prowl, but frowned. “The **interim** High Commander, you mean,” he said.

A pause. “Of course,” Prowl said, his voice even. “Interim High Commander.”


	3. Vorn 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Three vorn have passed since Silverstreak left.

Smokescreen clasped his hands behind his back and spread his door wings wide as he watched the motorcade enter the palace courtyard. His imitation of his sire’s usual stance was deliberate and calculated. It had been Prowl’s suggestion, a way to build a bridge between the young prankster Smokescreen, and the Prince Smokescreen who was taking the first steps into his sire’s paces. For Smokescreen, the stance felt natural. 

He wasn’t sure if he liked that or not.

Flanked by a large entourage of guards and attendants, the King and King’s Consort drove right up to the stairs of the palace where Smokescreen waited with Prowl at his side. As the group slowed and transformed, Smokescreen descended the stairs to greet King Cygnus and Lord Caelum.

“Welcome home, Your Majesty, My Lord,” Smokescreen said, sweeping into a bow. He smiled as he stood. “I hope you had a pleasant journey.”

The King nodded at his creations, bringing his hands behind his back in his usual pose. “Yes, we did. I trust that everything here went well while we were away?” 

Smokescreen nodded. “It was mostly quiet. There are a few items that I would like to discuss, but nothing that cannot wait until later. Would you like to meet over evening fuel?” he asked.

The King hesitated, then said, “If it’s nothing pressing, I would prefer to see to it tomorrow. I am... rather tired from the road, and I think I would like to retire early.” He looked up the stairs as if already looking forward to his berth.

Smokescreen bowed again. “Of course, Your Majesty. It can all wait until tomorrow.”

With another curt nod, the King ascended the stairs into the palace, trailed by his attendants and Guards.

Lord Caelum stepped forward and put a hand on Smokescreen’s arm. “Well, I would not mind sharing evening fuel with you both tonight. It would give us a chance to catch up,” he said, smiling at Smokescreen and then at Prowl. “Maybe after I’ve had a chance to wash some of this road dust off first?”

“Of course, carrier,” Smokescreen said, returning the smile. “Meet us in my quarters in a groon?”

* * *

The servants had just dropped off the heated energon when Lord Caelum arrived. He greeted the brothers with the same easy smile he’d had when he’d arrived at the palace... The same smile that reminded Smokescreen so much of Silverstreak.

Once they were seated at the table, Prowl asked, “How was your trip? I hope you had good weather in the mountains.”

Lord Caelum nodded. “The weather was perfect. The accommodations were stunning. The trip itself was relaxing. I think it was exactly what your sire needed.” Caelum frowned slightly. “It was probably a good idea to arrange some down time for him. He’s been under so much stress lately, what with the uprising in the Eastern Province, and Silverstreak...” His frown deepened and he looked at Prowl. “I don’t suppose there has been any more news while we were away.”

Prowl shook his helm. “Nothing worth mentioning.” His door wings fell slightly. “The last sighting of a full-framed Praxian that the Temple investigated turned out to just be an aerial with stunted wings. Even if it had been a Praxian, he looked nothing like Silverstreak.” Prowl shrugged. “I’m not even adding things like that to the reports any more, since it seems to upset sire more than it helps.”

Caelum sipped at his fuel and then set the cube on the table, turning it so that it lined up with the table’s edge. “That’s probably a good idea,” he said. “He’s seemed a bit off lately, and I was hoping that the rest would do him some good.”

“Off?” asked Smokescreen.

“Just little things,” Caelum said. “Like... Wandering around looking everywhere for his stylus, shouting at me and his attendants to help look, when he had it in his hand all along.” He frowned. “And this afternoon, as we were driving up to the palace, I felt...” A shadow flickered across Caelum’s normally cheerful face. Smokescreen realized Caelum was probably thinking of something he had felt across his bond with the King, things shared which were normally not discussed outside of the presence of the other bond partner. “I think he was confused,” Caelum finally said, hesitantly. “He expected there to be... three of you, I think. And when he only saw two...”

Smokescreen frowned. “He did say he was tired from the road,” he suggested.

Caelum blew air from his vents and nodded. “Perhaps,” he said. After a moment, his blue optics brightened. “But enough about that. What have you two been up to while we were away?”

* * *

At the next full Court session, Smokescreen decided that Lord Caelum’s fears about King Cygnus were unfounded.

The King focused keenly on the topics that were brought up, asking insightful questions and making what Smokescreen thought were sound judgements. The King had even nodded when presented with some of the decisions that Smokescreen had made in his absence, rewarding his heir with a smile and a nod after hearing of several of the more difficult resolutions that Smokescreen had reached. 

It seemed like rest and relaxation was all that the King had needed, after all.

There had been a lot of business to cover. When the Court was finally adjourned, Smokescreen stood and stretched gratefully. As Prowl paused to speak to one of the Court administrators, Smokescreen caught the optic of Halfsteel, motioning for the young noble to step aside with him.

“I’d hoped to catch you here,” Smokescreen said when Halfsteel joined him. “I am having a little get together for the Lunar Festival in the West Garden... Just a small affair with some good friends. Would you be free, and interested in joining us?”

“Oh, you know me,” Halfsteel said with a smile and a roll of his optics. “My social calendar is just bursting.” Halfsteel lowered his door wings and dropped the sarcastic tone to add, “I would be honoured, Your Highness.”

Smokescreen waggled a digit at the young noble. “Just Smokescreen is fine during the party. You know my rules,” he said with a smile. “And if you don’t mind, I’m asking attendees to bring a fuel donation with them for the capital’s fuel hall... Whatever you think you might afford would be fine.”

Halfsteel nodded. “A very worthwhile cause, Your Highness,” he said. 

“Excellent!” Smokescreen clapped a hand on Halfsteel’s shoulder. “I’ll have a formal invitation sent to you. I look forward to seeing you there.”

Halfsteel bowed a little deeper than usual, and Smokescreen noticed his optics flick over the Prince’s shoulder. As the young noble stepped back to leave, Smokescreen turned around and saw High Priest Barricade standing a few paces behind him, a pursed frown on his lips.

“High Priest,” Smokescreen said, inclining his helm.

“Need I remind you that Halfsteel is not on your list of permitted bond partners?” the High Priest asked, flicking his door wings. “He has already been promised to another noble, closer to his own rank.”

“No reminder is necessary, High Priest,” Smokescreen said, carefully smoothing over his irritation. “I was simply inviting him to a little celebration I’m putting together for the Lunar Festival.” He tilted his helm and smiled at the black mech. “If you wanted to come, you only needed to ask. I’ve arranged for a renowned wing dancer from the South Province for entertainment, and a selection of fine high grade.”

Barricade’s frown deepened. “I have no interest in prurient pastimes such as your party,” he said. “And I hope there will be no untoward activity at this event.” He lowered his voice. “I would not want to see **another** Prince fall into disgrace.”

Flashing his dentae in his smile to hide how he was grinding them together, Smokescreen said, “If you want to send some chaperones, they would be more than welcome to join us... In whatever activities we get up to.” He lowered his door wings deferentially, but left the grin on his face.

With a sneer, Barricade whirled and stalked out of the throne room, flanked by his Temple guards.

Smokescreen took a moment to calm himself, resetting his door wings back to a neutral angle, and lowering his hands to his side. As he began walking towards the exit, Prowl fell into step beside him.

“You should not bait him that way,” Prowl said quietly. “He could cause you a lot of trouble.”

Smokescreen kept his optics forward, still working to calm his anger. “I am not baiting him. I am simply reminding him of his place,” he said. “He already dictates which mechs I am permitted to bond with. I will not allow him to dictate which mechs I choose as my friends.”


	4. Vorn 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Five vorn have passed since Prince Silverstreak left Praxus.

Prince Smokescreen paused after leaving the main Temple building, allowing his optics to adjust to the bright light outside. He nodded to the line of priests waiting to speak to any mech who had questions regarding today’s sermon, but he had no desire to linger to discuss the teaching. He’d had quite enough of it while sitting in the sanctuary. 

Smokescreen didn’t mind coming to Temple; spending a few groons once a deca-cycle sitting and listening to someone else speak was not the most onerous of his duties. He just wished that the sermons were either more engaging, or less monotonous. After so many vorn of attending services, Smokescreen thought he could probably cobble together a decent sermon himself despite never having been much of a religious scholar.

“Prince Smokescreen!”

As Smokescreen walked through the Temple grounds, he turned and scanned the crowds looking for whomever had called for him. He smiled when he saw a shorter chevroned mech wearing a Temple stole waving at him.

“Prelate Truemark,” he said, inclining his helm and door wings at the Temple clergymech. “This is a surprise! I hadn’t expected you back in the capital until the warm cycles started.”

The Prelate smiled. “Things have been going better than expected, so I was able to return to the capital early.” He held out an arm, gesturing for the Prince to accompany him further into the gardens. “Walk with me?”

The afternoon sun filtered through the Temple’s tall crystal spires, casting muted shadows on the ground. Two of Smokescreen’s Guards followed them at a slight distance, giving the two mechs privacy to speak alone.

“I wish I had time to come visit your shelter to show my support for your work,” Smokescreen said as they walked between the crystals. “Unfortunately, my free time has been scarce lately.”

With a nod, Truemark said, “I can imagine. Hopefully our work helps alleviate some of the friction in the Eastern Province.” Truemark smiled up at the Prince. “And while we would love to host you for a visit, just having your patronage is greatly appreciated. We really couldn’t have done this without you. Prince Silverstreak was known to be a supporter of our work, and it’s so helpful that the heir is also assisting us. Simply having your designation attached helps our work.”

Dipping his door wings, Smokescreen nodded. His sire had scoffed when Smokescreen quietly began assisting the Prelate’s work with the less fortunate in the Eastern Province, but the Prince knew how much this type of work was needed. “Silverstreak would have approved, I’m sure,” Smokescreen said quietly.

“I take it there hasn’t been any more word on your brother?” Truemark asked.

Smokescreen frowned. He didn’t like hiding the truth from the Prelate, but the fewer who knew the real story, the better. The official version was that the youngest Prince had gone hunting alone, and had simply not returned. “No. Nothing new.”

Nodding, Truemark said, “I pray to Primus that he returns soon, safe and whole.” He glanced behind them at Smokescreen’s Guards, and stopped near a large crystal, his hands clasped at his waist. “Speaking of Primus, I have some news to pass along. I have just a few kliks.”

Glancing at Truemark’s hands, Smokescreen saw a glow almost hidden by the Prelate’s digits. The clergymech held a small privacy charm, allowing them to speak without being overheard for a short time. Smokescreen turned and looked up at the crystal as if admiring its height. “Go on.”

“First, the High Priest is very displeased that you have offered your patronage for our shelter,” he said. “He views it as a waste of your precious time and resources that could better be spent on **his** projects.”

“Yes. He’s said the same thing to the King.” Smokescreen recalled the King asking Smokescreen why he was assisting a shelter in the Eastern Province. When Smokescreen explained that it was to help alleviate some of the poverty and hardship that had instigated the uprising there, the King had agreed, much to Barricade’s chagrin. “Fortunately the King has no problem with my patronage of your shelter, provided my support comes out of my own purse.” Smokescreen smiled. “And I agree with your interpretation of the ancient texts, that Primus would want us to help the less fortunate.”

The Prelate nodded. “I was worried that the High Priest would start making trouble for you in the Court over this, but he has been a bit distracted lately.” Truemark covered his mouth with his hand to hide his lips from anyone watching. “It has been confirmed thrice over by the Temple seers... The Unmaker stirs.”

Smokescreen suppressed a shiver. “So it’s true then.” Conspiracy-minded mechs had declared that the energon shortages were a sign that the end times were approaching, but Smokescreen had paid them no mind. He realized that perhaps he should listen to them more closely.

“There’s more...” Truemark flicked his optics back towards the Temple, keeping his hand over his lips. “The signs have been read that Primus’ vessel has been selected and is ready. He walks among us now.” 

It took all of Smokescreen’s training not to gape at the Prelate. He lifted a door wing so as to hide their helms from anyone passing on the path. “Do you know who it is? And does that mean no more arranged bondings?”

The Prelate shook his helm. “The vessel’s identity is known only to Primus. We can only see that he has been chosen and is taking the steps towards his ultimate destiny.” Lowering his hand, Truemark smiled ruefully. “And as for the bondings... Do you recall the main message of today’s lesson?”

Frowning, Smokescreen flicked back through his recent memory files. Listening to the sermons meant treading a delicate line between not zoning out so much that he started falling into recharge, and not paying attention so closely that his door wings would start to flick in irritation. “Yes... That the Temple will lead us through the dark times, and that we should heed the leadership of the Temple in all things.”

Nodding, Truemark said, “The High Priest is laying the foundation of what is to come now that they know the vessel has been created. The Temple elders want it known that pure Praxians must be protected. If the Temple cannot arrange bondings, then pure Praxians will eventually vanish. To survive as Primus intended, Praxus must continue to ensure that pure Praxians mate only with others pure of frame and spark.”

Smokescreen’s door wings flared out as he gaped at the Prelate. “That’s... That’s...” He collected his thoughts. “That is flat out frameism.” 

“We are in agreement.” The Prelate lifted his shoulders as he pulled air in through his vents and then let it out slowly. “But this is how the Temple elders intend to keep their power over the populace, once it becomes known that no more arranged bondings are needed to help save Cybertron from the Unmaker. Instead, they will be needed to maintain the integrity of the classic Praxian frame.”

Scowling, Smokescreen said, “I see.” He bowed his helm and added, “Thank you very much for telling me this, Prelate. I know how precarious your position is.”

“Don’t worry about me, Prince Smokescreen,” Prelate Truemark said with a smile. “I serve Primus, not the mechs who sit at the top of the Temple. Primus provides for his faithful.” He lowered his hands back to his sides, the glowing charm in his hands now just a dull stone. He let it fall to the ground beside him.

”Primus provides.” Smokescreen dipped his doorwings and managed a genuine smile for the Prelate. “Give my best to your acolytes at the shelter, please.”

* * *

“Your Majesty, here are the numbers from the last harvest,” Smokescreen said, handing a pad to King Cygnus.

“Thank you, Smokescreen,” said the King, taking the report without looking up. As Smokescreen turned to go, the King added, “Oh, and if you see Silverstreak, tell him that I’m still waiting for his report on the troop deployments in the Eastern Province. I should have had it two cycles ago.”

Smokescreen froze. “Sire?” he asked, slowly turning around to face the King again.

The King looked up at the Prince. “Yes?” he asked.

Frowning, Smokescreen carefully said, “I will ask Commander Irridius to send you the report as soon as possible.”

A distinct look of confusion flashed across the King’s face before being replaced by an expression of sorrow. His lowered his door wings and nodded. “Yes. Of course. Commander Irridius.” He looked down at his work. “See to it, please.”

“Yes, sire.” Smokescreen whirled and strode out of the King’s study.

A klik later, he walked into Prowl’s study without knocking. “He’s getting worse,” Smokescreen hissed. When Prowl looked up at Smokescreen, he added, “He just asked me to get Streaks to send him a report he’s missing.”

Prowl’s door wings sagged in almost the same way the King’s just had. “I was worried about this,” Prowl said. “I’ll inform Triage. Perhaps the frequency of his treatments needs to be increased.”

“He’s already getting treatments once an orbital cycle. His last one was just a deca-cycle ago,” Smokescreen said. He collapsed into the chair across from Prowl. “Maybe there’s something else they can do...”

“I’m sure Triage is doing the best he can,” Prowl said. When Smokescreen looked up at him, Prowl was frowning. “And if the treatments are becoming less effective... Maybe we should start thinking about contingency plans.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To place this in context for _The Renegade and the Hound_ , this is about the time that Bluestreak traveled to Altihex. He lived in the wilderness for a little while, but then went to the port city to get a job and earn some money. He was in Altihex for quite a while before he felt he had to move on.
> 
> Also, it was around this time that Shockwave finally perfected the charm that he eventually used to create his army.


	5. Vorn 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prince Silverstreak left Praxus eight vorn ago. His family is finally forced to say their goodbyes.

The procession route from the palace to the Temple was lined with citizens from all walks of life, from the highest-ranking nobles to the poorest gutterspawn who got by only with the help of others. It felt as though every mech in the capital had turned out. It was a stunning display of solidarity and unity.

Prince Smokescreen wished that none of it was happening.

The charade that Prince Silverstreak had vanished while hunting had reached its inevitable conclusion. By law, after being missing for seven vorn, the Prince must be declared dead so that the Articles of Succession could be altered. His designation would be removed from the Royal Scroll, and the line of succession would be updated to exclude him.

The King resisted, insisting that they take more time to look for his missing creation. Of course, the public searches were carried out in the wilderness of Praxus, in places where the young Prince may have gone hunting. Meanwhile, the Temple collection squads had stepped up their surveillance network that looked for full-framed Praxians outside of the walls of Praxus, but they had found no definitive sign of the Prince. 

Eventually, King Cygnus was forced to agree to the changes to the line of succession. But he had delayed holding a funeral for the Prince until it was finally forced upon him by the Temple.

“A proper funeral is necessary to give your citizens the closure they need,” High Priest Barricade had explained just a deca-cycle ago. “And for yourselves, as well. At some point, you must move on.” 

King Cygnus had held his composure until the High Priest left. Then, his façade crumbled. Smokescreen and Prowl had quietly let themselves out of the King’s quarters while Lord Caelum cradled the King’s helm against his chest.

The King walked slowly down the funeral procession route, his door wings hung low on his back. Lord Caelum walked beside him, grasping the King’s hand tightly. They each held a torch that had been lit in the palace courtyard from the Eternal Flame, symbolizing the light of the Prince’s spark being escorted from his old home in the palace to the Temple, where it would be lifted into the sky. Both the King and his Consort were draped in black mourning cloaks.

Behind them walked the two remaining Princes, who also held torches and wore black cloaks. Prowl’s optics were fixed ahead; Smokescreen wasn’t sure whether he was staring at the back of Lord Caelum’s helm, or at the low rise of the Temple that they slowly walked towards. Out of the corner of his optics, Smokescreen looked at the mechs who stood in silence as the Royal family passed. He recognized some faces, nobles and commoners alike, all of whom knew and loved the missing Prince.

Smokescreen lowered his optics to the ground. Silverstreak had cared for others freely and openly, concerned more with what he thought was right than what was proper or expected. Smokescreen had sworn that he would do all he could to carry on Silverstreak’s work, even after he became King. Even if the Temple disapproved.

It was the least he could do in his brother's memory.

As they approached the Temple gates, an amplified voice echoed out over the crowds. “From Primus we come. To Primus we shall return.”

A murmur swept through the crowd, repeating the prayer. Smokescreen found that his vocalizer emitted only clicks, so he closed his mouth and remained silent.

The procession was led into the Temple grounds, where a funeral pyre had been erected in the center of the gardens. If this had been a real funeral – Smokescreen refused to believe that Silverstreak was actually dead – the royal frame of the deceased would have been laid atop the pyre. With no frame to burn, a deactivated prize torbuk had been laid atop the pyre in his place.

Seeing the dead torbuk in his brother’s place made the whole event seem even more surreal to Smokescreen.

High Priest Barricade stood near the pyre, his door wings held high. His white and gold stole was twined with a black mourning cord, and he held his staff at his side. “We gather to commend Prince Silverstreak’s spark to Primus.” He nodded to the Royal family members, who took their places in front of the pyre.

The King’s face was an impassive mask. King Cygnus had hid himself in his quarters for the cycles leading up to the funeral, and Lord Caelum had spent much of that time by his side. Smokescreen knew that Triage had dosed both the King and Lord Caelum with a calming charm so that they would not break down during the ceremony. He watched closely as the King lowered his torch to the pyre, transferring the flame to the flammable kindling. Quietly, so low that only Caelum and Smokescreen could have heard him, the King said, “Primus, please guide my creation’s spark to your side.”

Lord Caelum touched his torch to the pyre next, repeating the same phrase, only louder. “Primus, please guide my creation’s spark to your side.” As his torch caught the kindling, Caelum lifted his helm and watched the sparks fly into the air.

Smokescreen and Prowl used their torches to light their kindling bundles as they recited the same prayer. “Primus, please guide my brother’s spark to your side.” Smokescreen watched the flames lick at the main structure of the funeral pyre for a few moments before offlining his optics. The image of the sparks rising into the night sky made his own spark twist in its casing.

Lifting his staff and looking to the sky, Barricade intoned, “Primus, you gifted this bright spark to us for such a short time. Now, protect it. Grant this spark your protection and guidance.” 

Letting the High Priest’s words wash over him, Smokescreen thought of the last time he had seen his brother. Smokescreen had been preparing to leave on a hunt, and the youngest Prince had gestured at Smokescreen’s weapon. “You could request a better weapon, you know,” he had said. He picked up Smokescreen’s rifle and made sure that it wasn’t loaded, then expertly checked the weapon’s sights. “I think this thing is as old as I am!”

Smokescreen had shrugged. “I’m not expecting to bag anything,” he said. He took the rifle back from his brother. “This is purely a social activity.”

Silverstreak had laughed, his smile coming easily to his lips and optics as it always did. “Fair enough! But let me know if you change your mind. I’m sure that your brother the High Commander of the First Cavalry Division would be able to requisition something a little more reliable for the heir to the kingdom.” 

Taking the rifle back from Silverstreak, Smokescreen smiled. “I think it’s bothering you more than me. But if you really want to get me a new weapon, go ahead.”

“Great! I’ll see what I can do!” Silverstreak patted Smokescreen’s shoulder as he walked past him. “Have a good hunt, Smokey.”

“Thanks, Streaks,” Smokescreen had replied. He hadn’t watched his brother leave the room, never expecting those were the last words he would exchange with him.

A vibroflute began to play, and the crowd around the funeral pyre lifted their voices in the Song for the Fallen. 

Opening his optics, Smokescreen saw that the pyre was fully engulfed in flames. He watched the sparks soar upwards towards the stars, into the heavens.

* * *

Smokescreen had dragged a chair out onto his balcony. He knew that his head attendant would likely tut disapprovingly of moving furniture around by himself, but Smokescreen hadn’t really been in the mood to wait for someone to do it for him.

He slouched down in the chair, his helm thrown back to look up at the night sky and his feet propped up on the railing to his balcony. His left hand rested on his chest, while his right hand hung over the side of the chair. He twirled an empty glass between his digits carelessly.

Smokescreen had hoped that the few (three? four?) glasses of high grade would help him forget. Instead, it seemed only to have made him remember more.

“Do ya think he’s still out there?” he asked. He twirled the glass through his digits again, then lifted it to his optics. He debated getting up to get more. Then he wondered whether he would actually be able to walk to get the refill.

Hearing only silence after his question, Smokescreen lolled his helm to the side to look at his brother. Prowl sat slumped in another chair that had been dragged onto the balcony, a glass in his own hand. He looked out over the gardens with unfocused optics.

“Prowl. I said... Do ya think Streaks is still out there?” Smokescreen asked again, speaking carefully so as not to slur his words.

“I heard you,” said Prowl quietly and calmly. “I was simply figuring out how to respond to your question.”

Satisfied that Prowl would eventually answer him, Smokescreen looked back up at the stars spattered across the inky darkness above him. A meteor streaked by overhead and Smokescreen frowned. It was said that meteors were really the sparks of the dead, watching over their loved ones below. Considering how he had spent the evening, that wasn’t a superstition he wanted to give any credence at the moment.

After several kliks, Smokescreen heard Prowl shift in his seat. He turned his helm to look at Prowl again. “I don’t have enough information to determine whether Silverstreak may still be alive,” Prowl said. When Smokescreen opened his mouth, Prowl held up a single digit to silence his brother. “However, if he **is** still alive... If he **is** still out there... I sincerely pray that he is safe and out of harm’s way.” Prowl finally turned his helm to look at Smokescreen. “We’ve seen what happens to full-framed Praxians who’ve discovered that the outside world is not the paradise they imagined.”

Smokescreen frowned, and then shuddered thinking of the horrors they had discovered over the past several vorn. The increased focus in trying to find Prince Silverstreak had the side effect of revealing many other full-framed Praxians who had run from their Temple-mandated obligations and the oppressiveness of life inside the walled country. Not all of them were found in good circumstances.

Among the mechs who had been brought back by the collection squads were slaves. Mechs with the rare, pure Praxian frametype drew high prices in the slavers’ market. Many of these mechs had returned without struggle, happy to have been freed from their chains by the collection squads.

Investigations in Kaon had discovered that at least three full-framed Praxians had been pressed into the fighting pits. All of them had been killed within their first vorn of being tossed into the violent matches. The frame of one of them hung at the entrance of the most infamous pit, pinned spread-eagled over the doorway as an advertisement of the brutal fights within.

And one pure Praxian had been found in a brothel in Rodion. He was not there by choice; rather, the brothel had advertised his frame as their “most exotic offering,” and mechs paid exorbitant prices for a few groons with him. After he had been freed, he refused to speak, and screamed whenever anyone touched him. Only after several vorn of careful nurture had he been able to reveal some of the awful ways in which he had been used, but he still would not permit anyone to touch him for any reason.

Smokescreen sent a silent prayer to Primus that none of those fates had befallen his brother.

Prowl heaved himself to his pedes with a grunt, then paused by Smokescreen’s chair. “I’m getting another drink,” he said, holding out his hand. “Did you want a refill?”

Smokescreen nodded and held out his glass. He heard Prowl walk back into his quarters, then emerge a klik later with two full glasses. “I’ve never seen you drink this much,” Smokescreen said as he accepted the drink. “You’re going to wake up tomorrow with an awful hangover at this rate.”

“So are you,” said Prowl as he collapsed back into his chair. “But it’s helping to dull the pain.” He held his glass up. “To Silverstreak.”

Smokescreen held up his own glass. “To Silverstreak.” He lowered his glass and took a sip. “Wherever you are,” he added softly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In [Chapter 14 of The Renegade and the Hound](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12966390/chapters/30577305), Prowl mentions that they lit a memorial fire for Bluestreak, and that everyone thought he had been deactivated. In this chapter, I wanted to explore what that must have felt like for Smokescreen and Prowl.


	6. Vorn 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It has been nine vorn since Prince Silverstreak left Praxus. The King's mind is beginning to deteriorate, but it's not just affecting him.

As he crossed the floor of the palace conservatory, Prince Smokescreen stretched and flared his plating, working the kinks out of his cables. As soon as he discovered which accountant had fouled up the harvest numbers so badly, Smokescreen was going to make sure the mech was out of a job. It had taken him the better part of the cycle to sort it all out.

Then again, Smokescreen thought, it was nice being able to focus on a task as complicated - yet still straight-forward - as untangling that mess. He could have asked Prowl to do it, but Smokescreen found he actually enjoyed puzzling out the problem. It was something that didn’t require weighing two differing viewpoints: there was only a right and a wrong. It was refreshing to work on something that he knew had a right answer for a change, unlike all of the decisions he had to make every cycle as the heir apparent, with all the shades of grey he needed to consider.

As Smokescreen descended the stairs into the gardens, he noticed a small knot of mechs hovering near one of the terraces overlooking the East Garden. Catching sight of him, one of them ran towards him and waved his hand urgently. “Your Highness!” he called. Smokescreen recognized him as Lord Caelum’s attendant. 

Smokescreen paused and waited for the mech to catch up with him. “Yes, Groundline?” Smokescreen asked.

Groundline paused and wrung his hands together. “Your Highness... It’s Lord Caelum. He’s been there, on the terrace, for most of the cycle,” he said, gesturing at the terrace. Smokescreen could see the King’s Consort standing near the railing of the terrace. His door wings were lax against his back, and he stood calmly with his hands resting on the railing.

“And?” Smokescreen asked, not quite seeing the cause for all the worry. “I know Lord Caelum loves the gardens. He often spends time out here.” In fact, Lord Caelum had requested and received permission to redesign a large portion of the East Garden, turning it from a sterile, manicured space into a lush jungle of crystals and hidden paths.

“Your Highness,” Groundline said, his tone urgent in his need to be understood. “Lord Caelum hasn’t moved from that very spot since morning prayers were over.”

Smokescreen’s door wings shot up in alarm. The sun was beginning to dip towards the horizon. Morning prayers had finished over seven groons ago. He looked again at the still figure standing on the terrace. “I see,” he said quietly, and hurried towards Caelum.

Lord Caelum radiated calm. His door wings were loose, drooping slightly but not completely fallen. His digits rested gently on the railing, and his optics were open and fixed on a point in the distance. 

Looking closer, Smokescreen saw that Caelum’s optics were dim, and flickered slightly. “Lord Caelum?” he asked quietly. When he received no response, Smokescreen stepped closer and gently brushed his hand against Caelum’s forearm. “Carrier? Are you all right?”

Caelum’s optics flickered again, then flared brightly before fading to their usual brightness. He blinked slowly, his door wings trembling slightly. “I... Yes, I...” The tremble in his door wings increased suddenly, and his whole frame shuddered as he leaned on Smokescreen.

“Carrier!” Smokescreen wrapped an arm around Caelum’s waist to support him. He grabbed the other mech’s hand and guided him to a bench. “Here, sit down for a moment.” As he helped Caelum settle onto the bench, Smokescreen looked up at Groundline, who was still hovering nearby. “Get Triage and tell him to come right away.” As the attendant nodded and turned to go, Smokescreen added, “And someone check on the King.”

“No!” Lord Caelum grabbed at Smokescreen’s wrist. “No, please. He is resting. Please... Do not disturb him,” he said with a pleading note.

Smokescreen met his carrier’s optics, then nodded. He looked up at Groundline. “Just have his attendants make sure he’s resting comfortably,” he said quietly, then turned back to Caelum as Groundline hurried off.

Lord Caelum sat slumped on the bench, leaning against Smokescreen. “I hadn’t intended to be out here this long,” he murmured. “But Cygnus had a lot to do today, and he needed...” Caelum shook his helm.

“What did he need?” Smokescreen asked, wrapping his arm around Caelum’s shoulders.

Caelum’s voice dropped to a hoarse whisper. “He need to focus. He needed me to be strong for him.” He rubbed his optics, then slowly sat up. “I’ll be all right.”

Smokescreen frowned at Caelum, but then turned his helm when he heard an engine approaching. Triage transformed before he stopped rolling, jogging the last few steps towards the Prince and his carrier. “Your Highness. My Lord,” he said, kneeling in front of Caelum and taking his hand. “If it was getting bad again, you should have told me.”

“What’s getting bad?” Smokescreen asked, his door wings tipping upwards. He looked at Caelum. He knew that the King had been receiving treatments from the medic, but had heard nothing about Caelum needing the same. “Carrier, what’s happened?”

“It’s not Lord Caelum,” Triage said. He reached out and tipped Caelum’s chin up, looking into his optics intently for a moment before nodding. The medic looked at Smokescreen. “It’s the King. His confusion is getting worse, and it’s affecting Lord Caelum.”

Caelum was shaking his helm before Triage had even finished speaking. “No, it’s not like that,” he said insistently. His voice was sounding stronger already, and his optics were clear and focused. “The King needs my support. When he gets confused, I... help him through it,” he said. 

Triage took a vial from his bag and pressed it into Caelum’s palm. “Take this now. You’ll need another one in a groon,” he said. Triage looked at Smokescreen. “Lord Caelum is using his sparkbond with the King as a buffer against the confusion the King is experiencing,” he said. The medic rocked back on his heels and looked up at the King’s Consort. “But, my Lord, if you know that he’s feeling especially confused, and feel him pulling on you like that, you should let me know that he needs another treatment.” The medic waited as Caelum opened the vial and tipped it back into his mouth. “Don’t take this on yourself. You could end up damaging your own spark or processor.”

“Wait. He’s **what**?!” A benefit of being bonded was being able to pull emotional energy from one’s partner when needed. If one partner was especially angry, the other partner could help calm them. If one was in pain, the other could provide strength to get their partner through the worst of it. But to use one’s partner to the extent that they were incapacitated themselves was tantamount to abuse: rarely spoken of, especially amongst the nobility, but reviled all the same. With a look of dawning horror, Smokescreen peered into his carrier’s face. The mech’s expression was one of defeat. “This isn’t... He shouldn’t... Carrier, you can’t allow him to –“

“He doesn’t realize what he’s doing,” Caelum said sharply, his optics brightening slightly. He flicked his door wings, and pressed his lips into a grim line as he pulled a full vent cycle to calm himself. “Usually it’s only later in the evening that he has trouble, or when the treatments are wearing off. But when it happens during the day... He gets so confused and upset that he casts about for anything he can anchor himself to. And the anchor he finds is me.” Caelum looked down at his hands, which were folded together in his lap. “I haven’t told him what he’s doing,” he added quietly.

Smokescreen took his carrier’s hand in his, and gave it a gentle squeeze. “Then maybe it’s time you did tell him,” he said. He thought for a moment. “Maybe... Maybe I can take on more of his responsibilities, and give him more time to rest. I’ve stepped in for him before. I can do this, to help him and you.” 

Lord Caelum nodded. His shoulders slumped. “Perhaps it’s for the best,” he said. 

Just then, Groundline reappeared next to the bench. “Pardon me, Your Highness,” he said. “The King’s attendants have confirmed that he is resting quietly.”

“I’ll stop by the King’s quarters tomorrow morning to give him another treatment,” said Triage as he climbed to his pedes. 

Smokescreen nodded. “We’ll speak to him them,” he said. He squeezed Caelum’s hand again. “All of us.”

* * *

The conversation did not go well.

In retrospect, Smokescreen realized that the King probably saw the discussion as a confrontation: his bond partner and two of their creations telling him that he needed to think about giving up some of his duties – and his power – to his heir, long before he felt he was ready. The conversation degenerated until the King and Smokescreen ending up yelling at each other, and Caelum and Prowl stepping between them to keep them apart. Finally, King Cygnus screamed at Smokescreen and Prowl to leave his quarters.

Smokescreen just couldn’t **wait** to hear from his head Guard what the servants thought about that little exchange.

Smokescreen stalked through the corridors, taking the most direct route to the gardens. He could sense Prowl following him, but his brother had enough sense not to say anything. Based on the way the servants and guards ducked out of his way, Smokescreen knew his expression and door wings were broadcasting his rage and frustration. He wanted to do something about those emotions before he said anything else he might regret.

Leaving Prowl on the terrace above the gardens, Smokescreen transformed as soon as his pedes hit the ground at the bottom of the stairs. Gunning his engine, Smokescreen drove, cutting ruts into the gravel of the track that ran around the edges of the West Garden. He skidded around turns, drifting dangerously close to a spin out on almost every lap. He focused only on digging his tires into the dirt, spraying up debris on the corners, and bleeding off as much anger, sorrow, and fear as he could.

The King refused to listen to reason, even when presented with perfectly sensible options to something that he knew was a problem. He questioned Smokescreen’s every attempt to ease the disparity the Prince saw between the pure and mixed, between the rich and poor, between the nobility and the commoners. He placed Barricade’s counsel above his own creation’s. 

The King’s actions had been the final strut to break in driving Silverstreak away.

Smokescreen’s engine roared as he ripped into another turn.

After almost a groon, Smokescreen felt... Well, not better, but at least more in control. He slowed, transformed, and slowly walked back up the stairs of the terrace. Prowl still stood at the top of the stairs, his door wings held motionless and his expression unreadable. Smokescreen glanced at him and lowered his door wings. “I’m going to my study if you want to talk,” he muttered.  
In his study, Smokescreen stood near the window, his hands clasped behind his back. Prowl leaned against the wall nearby. “That could have gone better,” said Prowl dryly.

Smokescreen glared out the window. “I know. He’s so stubborn,” he growled. “He knows he’s not well. Triage is giving him a treatment twice a deca-cycle now. And he must know when he’s falling into a fog. I don’t understand why he doesn’t...”

“I meant you, too.” When Smokescreen turned to look at Prowl incredulously, the younger Prince shrugged. “You're being just as stubborn. You dug in just as much as he did. Instead of trying to come to a middle ground, you essentially threatened his status in the Court if he didn’t give up some of his responsibilities to you.”

“What am I supposed to do?” Smokescreen exclaimed, feeling some of his anger flare up again. He scowled and turned back to the window. “Let him degenerate and slowly kill both him and our carrier? Barricade is always seeking to worm his way further into the King’s counsel; if he senses the King’s weakness there’s a good chance we could end up with a King who is even more of a puppet of the Temple than he is now!” Smokescreen noticed Prowl straighten up from the wall suddenly, but paid it no mind, still lost in his frustration. “I want what’s best for Praxus, what’s best for our people, **and** what’s best for our creators. So yes, I **am** being stubborn!”

The sound of a chair scraping back on the floor made Smokescreen turn, and his optics widened when he saw who had walked into the room unnoticed. “Your Majesty,” he said, bowing quickly. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

“So I gathered.” King Cygnus looked down at the chair he had pulled back from Smokescreen’s desk. “Please... Sit down,” he said, gesturing at the desk chairs.

Smokescreen gestured for his Guards to close the study door, and sat in his chair. Prowl sat in the chair next to their sire, his posture tense. “I...” Smokescreen snapped his mouth shut and inclined his helm, lowering his door wings to match. “My apologies, Your Majesty, for my... for my disrespect.”

Shaking his helm, the King said, “If there are any apologies to be made, I should be the one making them.” As Smokescreen gaped at him, King Cygnus smiled slightly. “I had a long talk with your carrier. He... He showed me what has been happening. What he’s been doing. What he’s been hiding from me.” His vocalizer clicked, but he reset it and continued. “I had not realized that it had gotten this bad.”

“He showed you?” Prowl asked quietly.

“Yes. Through a merge.” The King’s voice became very quiet; he rarely spoke openly about his relationship with Caelum, outside of their love for their creations and the King Consort’s duties to the Court. “He showed me what my... my condition has cost, both to him and to you.” He looked at Smokescreen. “I knew it was getting bad, but I stubbornly thought that I could simply work through it. The treatments seemed to work, even though I knew I was needing them more and more often.” He looked down, and quietly added, “I didn’t realize how much I was leaning on Caelum.”

Smokescreen frowned, recalling his carrier’s lost look on the terrace the previous cycle. “The thought of losing one of you fills me with fear,” he said. “The possibility that we could lose you both...” Smokescreen’s shudder shook his door wings.

His optics slightly distant, King Cygnus said, “It was a stupid stunt. I was still a youngling when I climbed the palace wall.” He smiled. “I was showing off for my friends. I wanted to show them how strong and agile I was.”

Prowl and Smokescreen exchanged glances at this sudden odd turn in the conversation. “Sire?” Prowl asked, concern painted on his face. He put a hand on the King’s arm.

King Cygnus smiled at Prowl. “My condition. My illness. Triage believes it was caused by damage to my processor that I sustained when I fell from the palace wall. I was offline for almost a full orbital cycle. The medics didn’t think I would recover.” He blew air from his vents and his smile became wistful. “But I eventually came back online, and seemed none the worse for the misadventure. They warned me, though, that I might have problems later in life, either with my memory or my processor.” The King looked up at the ceiling. “I’d hoped that I would be much older before the symptoms started to manifest themselves. It looks like I am not so lucky.”

Smokescreen reached across the desk towards the King. “Sire... I wish that things were different. I wish that there was a different way forward.” Smokescreen’s voice was choked with static as he grabbed the King’s hand and held it tightly. “I do not want to lose your counsel prematurely. I have so much more to learn from you. But... I don’t want to do it at the expense of Lord Caelum, or of you.” He lifted his door wings up in a gesture of confidence that he didn’t quite feel. “If I can take some of your duties, relieve some of your stress, and keep you with us, and lucid, for longer... Please let me do that for you.”

The King looked at Smokescreen for a long moment. “I know that you and I have different visions of how best to serve Praxus. You seem to have been infected by Silverstreak’s sentimentality.” He frowned. “I don’t think that is in itself a bad thing, but... You have to balance that sentimentality with our duty, to Primus and to Cybertron.” King Cygnus looked at Smokescreen with clear, piercing blue optics. “The Unmaker is coming, Smokescreen, and we **must** ensure that Praxus is ready to defend Cybertron. You must keep that in mind, in all you do, and with every action and decision you make.”

“I do, sire. Trust me.” Smokescreen lowered his door wings slightly. “But I don’t believe that Primus would want us to use our people only as stepping stones to our ultimate goal. I believe that it’s possible to balance our duty with empathy.”

The King smiled and shook his helm again. “I used to be idealistic like you, with stars in my optics,” he said. “The weight of the crown is heavy. It made my optics dim slightly, and I saw how things really are. Everything is really shades of grey.” He finally squeezed Smokescreen’s hand back. “You just need to find the least dark path through the shadows. High Priest Barricade can show you one way, the way I have taken. But if you choose another path, Smokescreen, please... Take care. I will not be able to protect you forever.”

Smokescreen caught Prowl’s worried look. Neither of them had ever heard their sire speak this way. “Your Majesty, perhaps you should return to your quarters to rest...”

“I will,” King Cygnus said. “I promise. But first I’m going to my study and have Nib begin reviewing the Articles of Succession. It’s been a very long time since a Praxian King abdicated. Before I start the proceedings, I want to make sure that everything will be done within all the bounds of the law.” He stood slowly. “You may want to start calling in those favours I know you have been planting around the Court. I’m afraid that you might need them.”


	7. Vorn 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's been ten vorn since Prince Silverstreak left Praxus. Smokescreen tries to survive the political maneuvering of the Praxian Court.

_Probable match sighted in Altihex port city. Informant observed a dockworker who presented himself as an impure Praxian, but when the wind caught the mech’s cloak the informant saw a set of door wings clipped down against the mech’s back. Description of build and face similar to the target’s. A nearby collection squad has been dispatched to investigate._

Smokescreen stared at the report with a dull expression. How many “probable match” sightings had there been since Prince Silverstreak left the palace? Two or three dozen? It was getting to the point where Smokescreen didn’t even bother passing the information on to the King or to Prowl. The King would just fall into another depression at being reminded that his youngest creation had fled because of his actions, while Prowl would simply get his hopes up, only to have them dashed when the “sighting” turned out to be nothing.

Smokescreen tossed the report aside.

“Your Highness? A message came for you.” Smokescreen’s head guard walked into his study and held out a folded letter.

Taking the letter, Smokescreen smiled up at his guard. “Thank you, Strikeback,” he said. 

The letter was casually folded, with no imprint in the sealant. Curious. He slid a digit under the seal and opened the letter.

_Your Highness,_

_I have arrived in the capital early for the full Court next deca-cycle. If you have a free moment, would you care to discuss some ideas for your next party?_

_Your servant in Primus, Halfsteel_

His optics brightening, Smokescreen reread the letter. There was no party planned, of course, but Smokescreen knew that the message meant Halfsteel had something he wished to discuss in private.

He jotted down a reply on the same letter.

_HS –_

_I am free after evening prayers tonight, and will meet you on the terrace over the West Garden. I look forward to hearing your suggestions for the party._

_-SS_

* * *

Halfsteel was waiting for Smokescreen on the terrace that evening. “It’s good to see you again,” Smokescreen said, gripping his friend’s arm in greeting. “Come, let’s walk.”

As they descended the stairs into the garden, Smokescreen looked at Halfsteel curiously. “You’re quite a bit early for the full Court,” he said. “I hope everything is going well back home.”

“Oh, as well as can be expected,” Halfsteel said, waving his hand. “But our weather diviner warned of a storm coming in the next few cycles, so I decided to leave for the capital early to avoid it.”

Smokescreen nodded, and then paused near a status of his great-great grandsire. The statue was situated in a large open space, allowing them to see anyone approaching from any direction. He turned his hand over, flashing the privacy charm he held for Halfsteel to see for a moment, then closed his hand again. “So, what did you need to tell me?” Smokescreen asked.

Halfsteel’s face immediately took on a serious expression. “The High Priest is going from House to House, targeting those that have clashed with your sire in the past, and those who are staunch supporters of him,” he said. “He is trying to dissuade those Houses from supporting the succession plan.”

Smokescreen pressed his lips into a firm line. “Prowl expected this, and warned me that it might happen,” he said. “But go on. What angle is he taking?”

“For the Houses who do not get along with the King, Barricade is suggesting to them that you will be more of the same. He’s planting the suggestion that this would be an ideal time to challenge your House for the Throne.” Halfsteel’s door wings were flared wide and held taut, making it clear what he thought of that idea. “For the Houses who are supporters of your sire, he is highlighting the differences you’ve had with the King, and implying that you would drive Praxus away from the Temple and into darkness, right when their guidance is needed most.”

“And what sort of reception is he getting?” Smokescreen asked quietly, his optics scanning the gardens around them as if admiring them.

“Mixed,” Halfsteel said, watching Smokescreen with troubled optics. “Many of your sire’s devoted allies remain loyal, even with Barricade’s interference. But a few are wavering, since they see the differences between you and your sire. On the other hand, your sire’s rivals are simply waiting to see what falls out of this next Court. They see you as a new way forward.”

“I see.” Smokescreen blew air from his vents. He knew that the High Priest had begun scheming against him ever since the Articles of Succession had first been invoked, but he had hoped that Barricade hadn’t made had chance to sow dissent. It seemed that Smokescreen and Prowl had miscalculated. “So I need to stay as true to myself as possible in order to woo those who disagree with my sire... But I also need to stay as close to my sire’s goals as I can to keep our allies on our side.” He rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly feeling overwhelmed. “Talk about having to walk a fine line.”

“My House will support you no matter what,” Halfsteel said. He smiled at Smokescreen encouragingly. “And my brothers and I are doing what we can to explain that despite the differences you have with the King, we know that you are the best and brightest way out of the darkness that the Temple says is growing.” 

Smokescreen felt his spark flip, realizing what a gift Halfsteel’s friendship was. He sent a silent prayer up to Primus, thanking him for giving Smokescreen the foresight to seek out an alliance with Halfsteel. “I really appreciate that,” he said. He clapped a hand on Halfsteel’s shoulder. “If I can get through this safely, I will owe you a great debt.”

Halfsteel ducked his helm, still smiling. “I only wish to repay the kindness you’ve shown me,” he said. “And I believe that you will be an excellent leader for Praxus.”

Smokescreen glanced down at his hand and saw that the glow had faded from the privacy charm. He let the rock fall from his digits. Leaning on the statue’s plinth, Smokescreen folded his arms across his chest. “So how are things going for you? You must be close to starting the first steps of the bonding rites with Flux.”

Like a switch had been thrown, the smile fell from Halfsteel’s face. It was only gone for a moment, but the little smile that replaced it had none of the truth or warmth that his previous one held. “It’s going fine,” he said. “We had our first dinner together just before I left to come to the capital.”

Standing up straight, Smokescreen frowned and said, “The expression on your face doesn’t exactly say ‘everything is fine.’ What’s wrong?” He knew that sometimes the first formal meeting between two mechs who were promised to each other was tense.

Halfsteel shrugged and dropped the fake smile. In the space of half a klik, the confident mech that Smokescreen had seen emerge in the past ten vorn evaporated, leaving a hesitant and shy mech in his place. “It went well,” he said quietly. “Flux is... nice.” His optics flicked up to Smokescreen’s then dropped to the ground again. “We just... We don’t have a lot in common. We ran out of things to talk about after just a few kliks.” He crossed his arms as his door wings drooped. “I’ve heard that once you’re bonded, it’s different. You learn how to live with each other.” He shrugged again. “They always say it works out... Eventually.”

Smokescreen stared at Halfsteel for a long moment, watching the other mech’s mannerisms suddenly become reserved. His spark twisted as he watched Halfsteel pull a shuddering vent of air and try to lift his door wings back into place, and fail. 

He knew he’d never forgive himself if he left his friend to struggle through this on his own.

Flaring his door wings, Smokescreen said, “Well, I’m sure you’ll work it out eventually. But... it’s a shame that you’ll have to delay your bonding, what with the special assignment I need you for.” 

Looking up at Smokescreen with a confused expression, Halfsteel said, “Your Highness? What... What special assignment?”

Smokescreen gestured vaguely. “I’ll have to think of something,” he said, leaning towards Halfsteel conspiratorially. “But whatever it is, it’ll cause an unavoidable delay in your bonding rites. Can’t be helped,” he said, leaning back and shrugging. “I’ll be sure to send my apologies to your sire and to Flux’s.”

Halfsteel’s door wings had slowly climbed until they were standing stiff over his shoulders. “I... You don’t have to...” Halfsteel relaxed slightly as Smokescreen continued to smile at him. “I didn’t want to bother you with something so inconsequential.”

“It’s not inconsequential to you!” Smokescreen said insistently. He was surprised at the vehemence in his own voice, but it felt... Right. His friend was upset, and he was in a position to help. Smokescreen put his hand on Halfsteel’s shoulder again. “You’re a good mech, Steel, and a good friend. I want to see you be happy.”

Halfsteel’s posture slowly took on the confidence and assuredness it had had from earlier in the evening. He gave Smokescreen a deep bow, and when he stood he had a wide smile on his lips. “I am humbled by your kindness, Your Highness.”

“It’s no bother. Now,” said Smokescreen, gently putting a hand on Halfsteel’s back and guiding him deeper into the garden, “let’s talk about my next party.”

* * *

Smokescreen sat down at the table in his quarters, frowning at the document Prowl had given him. It was a preliminary agenda for the full Court, and he needed Smokescreen to prioritize the items to be discussed.

Of course, King Cyngus’ proposed abdication plan was everyone’s first priority. To stop the rumours that were flying around, the King had admitted to his illness. But he also had his medic Triage testify that it was progressing slowly, and there would be time for an orderly transition of power. As part of the abdication plan, the King wanted to slowly shift responsibilities from himself onto Smokescreen. The given reason was that it would give Smokescreen a chance to assume his new role with the King as his mentor, rather than being dumped onto the throne with no preparation. In reality, the King wanted to give both him and his heir plenty of time to make sure that Smokescreen would have enough Houses behind him so that there were no attempts at a coup. 

If the information that Halfsteel gave him was accurate, Smokescreen knew he had a bit of a fight to get the full Court to agree to the plan. With a resigned gust of air from his vents, Smokescreen set about ordering the other items on the agenda.

The Governor of the Eastern Province was worried about another uprising, while the Northern Province was requesting additional funds for road infrastructure. Meanwhile, there had been crazy stories circulating among towns to the west that wild beasts were roaming the countryside. Apparently some mechs had gone missing, and the Governor of the Western Province wanted to bolster the patrols in the area. 

Smokescreen made notes next to each item listing the Houses with interests in each area. He hated prioritizing by political necessity rather than by actual need, but this time he simply couldn’t avoid it. Not if he expected those Houses to support him. 

A servant came into his quarters carrying a tray. “Your morning energon, Your Highness.” 

“Thank you,” said Smokescreen, barely looking up from the agenda. He gestured with a hand. “You can leave it on the table.”

After a few kliks, Smokescreen had the items sorted. The Houses of the Eastern Province were already friendly to him thanks to his support of the charities there, while most of the Houses in the Northern Province were never going to support him no matter what he did. The Western Province could be swayed one way or the other, so he had pushed their issues to the top of the list, just behind the abdication plan. Hopefully showing that he wanted to discuss their concerns first would help sway them in his favour.

Smokescreen reached out a hand and grabbed the cube of fuel, still staring at the agenda. He skimmed the items once more before bringing the cube to his lips and – 

Suddenly, the decorative clasp on his cloak heated and began burning his plating.

With a cry, Smokescreen tossed the cube back down on the table, splashing some of the fuel over the side of the container. As he stood and whipped off his cloak, Strikeback ran into the room. “Your Highness, what is it?” his Guard asked.

Smokescreen stared at the cube of fuel while holding his cloak in his hand. His door wings quivered as he realized how close he had come to being injured – or worse. “Someone adulterated my energon somehow,” he said, holding up the cloak with the clasp still attached to Strikeback. The clasp glowed a dull red, still giving off a fierce heat. Wisps of smoke curled up from the cloak where the clasp touched the fabric. Smokescreen rubbed his collar fairing where the clasp had started to blister his paint.

The clasp had actually been Strikeback’s idea after the poisoning of Lord Aeriyn. The Chief Alchemist provided them with an enchantment that could be placed on an object to detect poison or other contaminants in fuel when brought close to it. Putting the enchantment on the Prince’s cloak clasp was a perfect way to hide the charm in plain sight.

Smokescreen had thought that Strikeback was being overly paranoid. Now it seemed that the guard had been prescient after all.

Strikeback called in the other guards, then turned back to Smokescreen. He took the cloak from the Prince. “I’ll have the servant that brought the fuel detained, and I’ll get the Chief Alchemist up here so he can figure out what’s was put in the fuel,” Strikeback said. After handing the cloak to another Guard, Strikeback paused, his optics meeting the Prince’s. “Are you sure you’re all right?” he asked quietly. “Should I call for the medic?”

Smokescreen shook his helm, finally ripping his gaze away from the tainted cube of fuel. “I’m all right,” he said. He smiled wanly at Strikeback. “Thank you for insisting on precautions,” he said. 

Strikeback nodded. “My sole purpose is to keep you safe, Your Highness,” he said firmly. 

As Strikeback turned to direct the other guards, Smokescreen took several steps away from the table. He stared at the agenda that had fallen to the ground near his chair for a long moment, wondering if the name of whoever arranged the failed poisoning appeared in the notes he’d written in the margins.

Or worse... Maybe he hadn’t written down the name.

Smokescreen stretched out a leg and dragged the agenda out from under the chair with his pede. He bent to pick up the agenda, and then rolled it up as he strode from the room.

He needed to talk to Prowl... and the King.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, yes, that sighting at the beginning of the chapter was, indeed, Silverstreak/Bluestreak. There were several references to Bluestreak's time in Altihex in [The Renegade and the Hound](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12966390/chapters/29641602), and there was a hint that he had to hide from the collection squads right before fleeing Altihex for Tarn. 
> 
> He traveled through Tarn into Iacon, where he ran into Hound... And that's where we first picked up his story. :)


	8. Vorn 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's been eleven vorn since Prince Silverstreak left Praxus, and Prowl leaves on his diplomatic mission to Vos, Tarn, Iacon and Polyhex.

It took every iota of willpower for Smokescreen to not drum his digits against the arm of his chair. He was only in attendance to observe. Interfering would only irritate the King and infuriate the High Priest. Besides, this was Prowl’s fight.

But knowing that didn’t diminish Smokescreen’s desire to give his opinion.

“This is to be a diplomatic mission,” Prowl said, his voice even and calm. Smokescreen watched his brother’s door wings carefully, and was amazed at how steady he kept them. Prowl had always had excellent control over his emotions. “While I appreciate the Temple’s concern, I feel confident that between Lord Fireblade, our attendants and my guards, I would be quite safe, even in Vos. I do not want it to look like we are staging an invasion of every country we visit.”

High Priest Barricade tipped his helm forward and met the King’s optics. “We are concerned not just with the Prince’s safety, Your Majesty, but with the perception that this trip may cause with the people of Praxus.” He glanced at Prowl and smiled ingratiatingly before looking back at the King. “The Temple is tasked with safeguarding the Praxian frametype so that a vessel may be produced for Primus. As a member of the Royal family, the Prince is a very visible example of this perfect frame. If we were to allow him to travel outside of the wall of Praxus unattended, we could not in good conscience restrict others from doing the same... And then where would we be?”

Smokescreen finally found his opening to weigh in. “Well, we **are** slowly loosening the borders,” he said. He tented his digits together and watched Barricade over them. “Do you mean to say that while some Praxians are free to travel now - with appropriate permission, of course – pure Praxians can only leave with a Temple chaperone?”

The High Priest’s door wings twitched, and Smokescreen suppressed a smile. The High Priest knew when he was being needled. “The Temple has protested opening the borders, Your Highness,” he said, the slightest edge of a growl rumbling from his engine. “We believe it is unwise, especially with the darkness we see growing to the west. Perhaps if we had not grown so lax with our borders, the massacre in Tesk might not have happened.”

“Perhaps you did not read all of the intelligence about the attack. Whatever creatures committed that atrocity also slaughtered our border guards. A lax border had nothing to do with the attack,” Prowl said, cutting through Barricade’s snarl. “The Vosians have experienced similar attacks, and we have heard that Tarn and Iacon may have as well. That is why this mission is so important.”

“Enough!” King Cygnus finally rapped his knuckles on the desk. He glared between Prowl and Barricade for a long moment, his door wings spread wide. “Prowl, the High Priest is correct. It would be unseemly for one of the Princes to travel without a Temple escort. They will be going with you, and that is final.” 

Prowl’s expression said nothing, but Smokescreen could read a lot into the hesitation before he spoke. “As you wish, sire.”

The King turned to Barricade as an oily smile spread across the black mech’s lips. “And High Priest, Prowl is also correct. This is a diplomatic mission, and Prowl has final say on how it is conducted. You and your entourage will do **nothing** to interfere with his task. Prowl is free to take appropriate action if you do interfere with his mission.”

Tipping his door wings upwards in surprise, Barricade sat up straight. Then he inclined his helm. “Your will is law, Your Majesty,” he said quietly.

Finally, the King looked at Smokescreen, who straightened in his chair. “And **you**... You are not King yet, creation,” he said sternly. “Do not insinuate yourself into my decisions for which I have not requested your counsel.”

Smokescreen met his sire’s optics for a moment, then dropped his gaze to the floor in front of him. The King was right; until the succession proceedings were completed, King Cyngus was still the ruler. Smokescreen gritted his dentae, since the only time the King seemed to really flex his remaining powers was to ensure the Temple’s influence remained constant. “Of course, Your Majesty,” Smokescreen said. He lowered his door wings. “My apologies.”

Pulling a full vent cycle, King Cygnus looked between all three mechs one more time before nodding. “This is an incredibly important trip, for many reasons. It’s been hundreds of vorn since we’ve sent an envoy to our neighbours. It’s imperative that it goes smoothly.”

There was a soft knock on the door of the King’s study, and after a moment it swung open. Lord Caelum stepped into the room and shut the door behind him. “Pardon me, Your Majesty,” he said, bowing his helm and dipping his door wings. “But perhaps it is time to take a break.”

Smokescreen silently watched the King, knowing that Lord Caelum’s interruption meant that he had felt the King “leaning” on him for strength through their bond. It had only been a few cycles since his last treatment. Triage had warned them all that before too long, the treatments would be completely ineffectual.

Despite his outburst in this meeting, Smokescreen was not quite ready for that moment just yet.

The King looked at Lord Caelum with wide optics, then an expression of shame flashed across his face. “Yes... Of course,” he said, lowering his door wings. He looked again at Prowl and Barricade. “Will there be anything else?” When both mechs shook their helms, he stood up. The three other mechs stood up as well. “Then I will take Lord Caelum’s advice and rest. Until tomorrow.” He walked around the desk and took Lord Caelum’s arm, and allowed himself to be led from the room.

The High Priest silently glared at the two princes, then whirled on a heel and swept out of the King’s study. Once they were alone, Prowl turned to Smokescreen and said, “You really ought not to bait him like that. It irritates our sire, and... you risk provoking another attempt on your life.” 

Smokescreen lifted a lip in disgust. “If he didn’t want to be baited, he wouldn’t be such an aft.” He glared at the door through which the High Priest had left. “If it was only a matter of propriety, he would have just sent along some Prelates to keep an optic on you. You know he wants to have input on the diplomatic discussions, especially with Vos.”

“I know.” Prowl blew air from his vents, suddenly looking very tired. “I am not looking forward to having to manage him **and** the negotiations at the same time.”

“I’m sure you’ll manage,” Smokescreen said, patting Prowl on the shoulder. “If anyone can multitask it’s you.”

* * *

A small army of attendants and guards gathered in the palace courtyard the morning of their departure. From the top of the palace stairs, Smokescreen watched the mechs securing the gear for the trip. “Why is it that Barricade has so many more guards going with him than you do?” he asked.

“He only has two more guards than I do,” Prowl said. He checked his personal gear a final time, and stowed it in his compartments once he was satisfied. “And if you count my attendant, the High Priest only has one more mech going with him than I do.”

“It’s Barricade,” Smokescreen said quietly. “You don’t **have** to be reasonable when complaining about him.”

Prowl laughed softly. “In that case, it’s utterly unreasonable how many mechs he has going with him,” he said.

“That’s more like it,” Smokescreen said with a grin, cuffing Prowl on the shoulder.

Down in the courtyard, King Cygnus stood next to Lord Caelum, chatting with Lord Fireblade. The noble was a friend of the King’s, and was an excellent negotiator. Prowl had specifically requested his presence in the party, both for his diplomacy skills and for his loyalty to the King. Smokescreen watched as the King put a hand on Fireblade’s arm and said something to him earnestly. The noble frowned, glancing at Lord Caelum, who shrugged. Fireblade looked back to the King, and after a moment nodded. King Cyngus smiled and gripped Fireblade’s forearm. 

“I suppose I should get going.” Smokescreen looked away from the odd exchange as Prowl turned to face him. His brother’s brow was creased, and his door wings hung low. “I know this mission is important,” Prowl said quietly. “But I wish I could be here as well. The next half vorn or so are going to be critical for you.”

“Don’t I know it,” Smokescreen said. He pushed down the feeling of doubt that rose in him, and struck a tone of pure bravado. “But I’m sure I’ll get through it fine. I’ve got almost half the Court on my side, and a good chunk of the Temple. Maybe by the time you get back, I’ll have the rest, too.”

The worried expression stayed on Prowl’s face. “I’ll just settle for you being in one piece.”

Smokescreen glanced to his side, where his head guard stood. After the first attempt on his life, Strikeback had encouraged Smokescreen to double up his guard until the succession proceedings had been concluded. Smokescreen realized how wise that advice had been, especially after the three subsequent attempts. All of the investigations into the attempts had turned up no leads on who was pulling the strings. “I’ve got the best help,” he said quietly, inclining his helm towards Strikeback and his other guards. “I’m sure everything will be fine.” Smokescreen tried to sound confident, but he knew he was failing badly.

Prowl stepped close to his brother and gently bumped their helms together, resting his chevon on Smokescreen’s. “Take care.”

“Go well, Prowl,” Smokescreen said, staring into Prowl’s optics. 

Prowl nodded, resting his helm on Smokescreen’s for another moment before pulling away. He descended the stairs and bid farewell to the King and Lord Caelum. Then, he transformed to join the rest of the party, and the group slowly drove out of the palace gates.

“And then there was one,” Smokescreen murmured to himself. He paused at the twist of fear those words caused him, and he shook his helm. Then he turned to walk back into the palace. 

He had work to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And this brings us up to just before [chapter 10 of The Renegade and the Hound](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12966390/chapters/30187458)! This is also where the King asks Lord Fireblade to bring Silverstreak back home, if he saw him.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed this little behind-the-scenes peek at what was happening in Praxus while Bluestreak was becoming a Ranger! :) I may eventually get around to those sequels I've been thinking about.


End file.
